


Cloud Age

by floralstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airships, Alternate Universe, Dieselpunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/floralstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny Lafitte—pilot, chef, bachelor—figured he had an easy life, living day to day selling his culinary creations to any he came across on the commercial strip in the sky. Dean—Aquarius, crowned prince and next in line to inherit the throne—never thought he’d fall to his death from thousands of feet in the air. Benny never expected to catch him either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloud Age

**Author's Note:**

> For this year's DeanBenny Big Bang (well, in this case mini bang)! Thank you to [Raven](http://forestprnce.tumblr.com/) for being my beta/moral support!!! Big thanks to [Drei](http://suchacat.tumblr.com/) for providing the super mega stellar [art](http://cuddlebenny.tumblr.com/post/79411522185/title-cloud-age-author-cuddlebenny-ao3) too!!!! Couldn't have asked for more aahhhh I'm overwhelmed I think this is the first time in awhile I've finished something and been so satisfied with it! I hope you enjoy, happy reading~

 

Benny had told his suppliers time and again that he didn’t want to fly through grid S4’s airspace. First, it was a militarized zone, Benny had to go through rigorous inspection—both his vessel and his own person—to even hope to make it through the checkpoint. Second, it was Imperial airspace. He was a neutral party on principle alone, but the air guard would only have to take one look at his citizen’s card and forcibly remove him from the grid. Third, the area was just too damn hot. He flew a restaurant, not a gunship.

He had one hidden turret on the starboard bow, but that was for emergencies only and his ammo was limited. He could fly around the grid but that would add another hour both ways to his trip, which he did not want to pay for on top of the checkpoint fee of the previous grid and the cost of the supplies he was going through the trouble of receiving in the first place. At least he could make good money at the Ally bases between routes.

He woke up late on the third day of the trip with an annoyed grunt. He had been having a very, _very_ good dream about a certain blue-eyed regular, Castiel, back in grid N5 and now his favorite boxers were sticky with drying come and he felt grossly dissatisfied. Something had woken him, though, he wasn’t one to wake so abruptly. He sat up in bed and scratched his chest, listening closely for a few minutes. He didn’t hear anything other than the wind against the hull. He shrugged and fell back against his pillow, sighing, shutting his eyes. He tried to chase the phantom edges of his dream, catching wisps of warm skin and a smile, those blue, blue eyes, soft lips, that tongue—sharp and quick—the way his breath hitches when he comes—

Benny groaned when his cock twitched in interest. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, so that certainly wasn’t happening anytime soon. Frustrated, he tossed the covers back and slouched to the bathroom.

“Those baby blues,” he sing-songed off key and sleep-rough, “they can kill ya.” He chuckled and turned the shower knob, leaving the water to warm while he pulled off his shirt and boxers with a grimace. He tossed it in the laundry basket. He’d have to stop at a laundry station at some point on his run, maybe the next airbase. He stepped into the tub and shuddered as the still cool water spilled over his shoulders. It warmed soon enough and the heat felt amazing, he groaned and leaned his forehead against the tiled wall. The nights were getting colder but he couldn’t afford to keep the whole ship warm at night. Maybe he’d invest in a space heater, if he could find a decent one for a decent price at one of his future stops.

He scrubbed himself down rigorously, humming and whistling the whole time. He shut off the water and he wasn’t even thinking about Mr. Blue anymore, though those dreams were bound to return. He dried and hung the towel around his neck while he pulled on his second favorite pair of boxers—his lucky ones with the stars on them, he’d won them in a bet, don’t judge—then a pair of old, torn jeans. He made his way down the main hall outside his cabin, flicking switches and buttons as he went, and the restaurant purred to life around him. He climbed the ladder through the hatch to the top deck and squinted when the stark autumn sun glared in his eyes.

“Mornin’.”

Benny turned and smiled.

“Mornin’ Ellen, d’you have a good night?”

Ellen Harvelle was the no-nonsense owner of the air dock Benny frequented, and hers was the best in the grid. She nodded and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course, you?”

“Of course,” Benny replied with a grin.

“You headin’ out this mornin’?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Alright. Same credit account on file?”

Benny nodded and Ellen left with the promise to return with his check. Benny busied himself with his morning chores, mopping the deck, checking the flight instruments, checking the propulsion engineer and the kitchen equipment. He set out some of the meat in the sink to let it thaw, thinking he’d make himself some stew for later. He came back out on deck and Ellen was waiting for him with his check and a basket under her right arm.

“Here,” she said, handing him the paper which he signed, and the basket as well. He flicked the cloth covering open and he quirked a brow. The basket was full with over a dozen eggs and wrapped packages of meat and bushels of fresh asparagus.

“Oh, Ellen, I can’t…”

“You can and you will,” Ellen admonished with a smirk, “consider it payment if you want. That roast you prepared for Jo’s birthday last month was just too damn good.”

Benny laughed and hugged her goodbye, thanking her before he left to stow the fresh food below. He hadn’t had the pleasure of fresh eggs in a good while. Sure he’d purchased them for his restaurant before, but he tried not to use restaurant purchases to feed himself, of course if he had leftovers at the end of the day he wasn’t one to waste.

He threw on a shirt and sweater before he went back on deck. The coffee maker was at the helm anyway, plenty motivation for him to get moving.

“Wait, Benny!”

He turned and saw Ellen waving him back to the dock. He had already pushed off but he wasn’t far. He set the engine to idle before he left the helm to lean over the side.

“What’s wrong?”

“Be careful, there’s an imperial convoy that’s supposed to make its way through these parts, in about an hour. I’d keep low if I were you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, you keep safe.”

“You too.”

He waved as he drifted away from the dock and he was quick to drop his altitude. His ears popped and the coffee pot rattled on the counter—he’d gone too fast, she was an old boat and couldn’t handle the strain that well—but he was determined to get through grid S4 as fast as he could manage in his decades old vessel.

 

Dean glared out the porthole to his right and pressed his forehead against it. It was an extremely cloudy day, he couldn’t even see the secondary floating towns beneath them as they flew, and he briefly entertained the thought of there being nothing beneath the clouds, just empty air for eternity, nothing but sky all around him. He shuddered and fingered the paper bags at his side. Sam had snuck them in for him, “barf bags” he’d called them, a relic from the times before cities took to the skies and humans were unused to heights. It wasn’t the height that scared Dean, it was the vessel, he could feel it jittering around him with each bump and rustle from turbulence, and his father scolded him for his foolishness. Their vessel was practically brand new, of the finest make and quality, and whether it was all in his head or not, Dean could only imagine the thing breaking apart beneath him, dropping him to his death.

He took out his communicator and tapped at his brother’s name, frowning when he saw that his device was offline. It would have been nice to at least talk to his brother during the trip, he must be busy though. He smiled wryly, yeah, busy, with what? Games and parties and friends, such things Dean never had time for, and it all culminated into this last voyage, a marriage, and a future of politics and a loveless relationship. He hadn’t even met his future spouse, didn’t know if they were a man or a woman, old or young, kind or hard, and he swallowed thickly at the thought of marrying some tyrant. They’d enter marriage talks once they reached the southern kingdom, after they found a suitable match. He wasn’t marrying the monarch, that much he knew for certain. He’d marry one of the crowned princes or knights of the kingdom, whichever was most suited to both of their families’ needs. His marriage would secure the final condition of a peace treaty with the other kingdom, a necessary stipulation both families had agreed on, and it was on Dean to fulfill it, to bring their two warring kingdoms to peace for the first time in decades.

He fiddled with his communicator for a few minutes, looking at all his pictures from home, of his favorite places in the palace where he used to run and hide from tutors, and he smiled when he saw one particular nook next to the kitchen entrance. One of the cooks used to sneak him cookies and milk when he was younger. He remembered her kindness, the heat of the tile beneath his bare feet and the warm smell of baking bread and meats that clung to her eggshell white apron. His father never caught him when he ran to her, she was his lucky charm. He wouldn’t have a magical chef to hide him away from his responsibilities now.

His head thunked against the glass and he closed his eyes, breathing through the tightness in his chest and the threat of tears. He was a young man now, he had no reason to cry. He had been prepared for this life since an early age, all for this moment, joining his family with another, for power, wealth, no matter what, it was his duty. He hunched over a little more, imagining his father’s stern gaze on him. Never slouch, never stutter, never yell, never cry, never argue, always defer, always agree, always consent, be soft, be kind, be warm…

“Your highness?”

He straightened and caught his breath, brought back from the brink of a panic attack.

“Apologies, I only wished to tell you that we are at the halfway point of the flight. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Dean shook his head, turning only when he had brushed the tears from his cheeks. He smiled at the attendant and waved her off. He slouched in his seat once she’d left, and he gazed around his compartment. He was alone, save for a lone bodyguard at the fore, black suited and silent. He hadn’t once looked at Dean the entire trip. He sighed and looked to the back, where there would be bathrooms and a stocked bar of snack foods and drinks. No alcohol. The trip in its entirety would normally take 15 hours for a civilian vessel, but not for an imperial convoy. They’d only been in the air for 4 hours. His stomach lurched, thinking about how fast he was flying through the air, and he staggered to his feet. The bodyguard’s eyes snapped to his and Dean froze, shuffled and turned to the bathrooms, shoulders drawn up and ears burning.

He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it. He stood there for a moment and realized he couldn’t feel the turbulence quite so bad from where he was standing and he sighed in delight. He took off his shoes and wriggled his toes, pacing circles in the space between the toilet and the sink—there was even a shower and a decent size bathtub. Why would anyone want to take a bath in an air ship?

He sat on its lip anyway and tapped his foot. He wondered how long he could get away with staying in the bathroom until either the bodyguard or the attendant would check on him. His heart pounded while he waited, and seconds turned into minutes, and soon half an hour had passed and no one came. He breathed easier and tapped at his communicator again, checking for Sam. He was still offline, and Dean had a sneaking suspicion his brother didn’t want to talk to him, was avoiding him, and he bit his lip and fought off even _more_ tears. It was because he was away from home for the first time in his life, it was the only explanation for his sudden need for contact with his family. Well, not just any family, his brother, his closest companion, the only one who really bothered to talk with him as if he was just a man, and not an object or a title. He was more than “lord” or “prince,” he was Dean Winchester, 25 year old heir to the crown of the northern kingdom, hates flying and loves chocolate chip cookies. He laughed softly to himself and put his palms over his eyes, blocking out the stark bathroom lighting. He was such a wreck.

His uncle, Robert—or Bobby, as Sam and Dean were fond of calling him—would be arriving tomorrow, after Dean had a chance to settle and meet his intended. Their culture didn’t believe in waiting for marriage to engage in intercourse. Dean swallowed thickly and scrolled through the names and faces on the list of candidates. He wondered if any of them would attempt to take him to bed before he was ready. He shakily ran his fingers through his hair and started at the top of the list again. There were only 2 women on the list of 6, his odds weren’t looking so good. One was 12 years old, her name was Lilith, a princess—20th in line for the throne—and she was away at boarding school. The other was Abaddon, a knight of the kingdom, captain of their armies, and 5 years older than him. He looked at her picture and swallowed, she had intense, hawkish features, flame red hair and blood red lips, quirked in a small smirk. “I own you,” she seemed to say, and he shuddered, blushed and flipped away from her picture.

The remaining 4 candidates were all incredibly different and Dean didn’t know how to feel about any of them. Zachariah, the oldest, 43, prince and next in line for the throne, aging but not altogether unattractive; Roman, the second youngest and second in line, Dean didn’t like the looks of him though he was conventionally more attractive than Zachariah, there was something in his eyes that screamed predator; Chuck—Dean smiled at the name, it was unassuming and quirky in its own way—14th in line, writer, a small, gentle looking man, Dean sincerely hoped that he was the one he would be wed to; and finally Ben Braeden, not immediately connected to the throne, but a son of one of the knights, too young to be married, Dean didn’t even know why he was on the list, just like Lilith. While Dean wished he would be placed with Chuck, the only one on that list that wasn’t a child or generally scary to look at, he knew there was an almost ridiculously high chance he’d be placed with Zachariah. He was next in line for the throne after all, unwed, and even Dean knew it would be a smart match.

He groaned and braced his elbows on his knees and just tried to breathe for a few seconds, trying not to think about what the future would hold for him. He was alone, quiet, for about a few more minutes and then the floor shuddered beneath him. He froze and looked up, waiting. The room shook again and there was a soft boom from somewhere to his left. He stood up and hastily pulled his shoes back on, but before he could leave the door burst open and the bodyguard stepped inside and slammed it. He had his gun out and cocked.

“Your highness, please step away from the door.”

Dean stumbled back and his knees hit the toilet seat and he fell onto it with a grunt.

“Wh-what’s going on?”

“Stay quiet and stay down.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut and shuffled behind the toilet, to the bathtub. He stepped in and crouched, shaking and beginning to sweat, and the bodyguard remained braced by the door, gun at his chest and eye on the door.

“P-please,” Dean whispered, “please just tell me what’s happening…”

“Three unknown gunships have us surrounded and are unlawfully demanding to board us. The situation will most likely escalate if help cannot be reached in time.”

“Oh god…” Dean groaned, swallowing bile.

“Remain calm,” the man said, “we have soldiers on standby near the hatches, no one’s getting aboard this ship.”

Thinking back on it now, Dean would say it was almost funny that right after the man spoke the floor exploded from beneath him and all Dean could hear after that was the roar of fire and screaming winds from the gaping hole in the hull. Blood splattered hot and coppery in his face and he screamed when the vessel groaned around him and fire swept around the room, blown back by the wind. Howling filled his ears, his sleeve was on fire, the tub was cracked and he was getting sprayed in the face from the broken pipe—the wall was demolished—and his perch shuddered violently, once, and then he was tipping forward through the hole in the floor, down and out into the sky. His stomach lurched up into his throat, he had time only to gasp and piss his pants—he even felt embarrassed for about a second—and then he was falling.

 

Benny hummed as he puttered about the kitchen, minding a simmering pot of peppery stew, spiced only with the best, and he breathed it in with relish. It had been awhile since he had such quality food for himself, a real treat, and he planned on savoring it for as long as possible. He brought out the good containers from his own stock, the ones that weren’t cracked, and started ladling portions into each one. He’d feed off this stew for a week at least, and his stomach gurgled happily at the prospect. He smiled and put them away, in the back of the fridge, so he wouldn’t confuse it with restaurant-only food. It was about lunch time, he wanted that stew to last him as long as possible, so he settled for frying up a few eggs to have with a couple slices of thick wheat toast. He’d throw on a couple dashes of tobasco sauce too, for flavor, and he chuckled, remembering what a certain someone had said about the sauce. An abomination, he’d called it, a cheap substitute for real flavor. Benny might be a cook, he knew about proper spices and all that good shit, but no one could separate him from his roots and his comfort food.

He packaged his lunch and grabbed his still full mug and headed out to the bridge. He’d dropped his altitude but something still didn’t feel right. He hadn’t seen or heard the convoy Ellen told him about, and even though he was much closer to the ground than usual he’d still be able to hear it, those imperial vessels all had monster engines on them, and could be heard miles out. He kept at his course, though. Even if he hadn’t heard it, it was possible he missed it completely and he was in the clear. He wouldn’t head back up to commercial altitude until he was clear of the grid though, he wasn’t that stupid.

He passed a few family vessels on his way and one docked with him and ate there for lunch, and he was happy to at least make some profit off the inconvenience. Before they left he made sure to warn them about the imperial convoy as well and they thanked him and left, the little girl waving at him until they were a speck behind him. He laughed and rested against the control panel, thinking about what living with kids would be like. It would be one hell of a kid-proofing endeavor, living on his ship. Normal family vessels had all that covered, and once they passed a certain age kids learned to keep away from danger areas. Children and by consequence mankind had gotten used to living in the sky. Still, though, he couldn’t imagine it, he didn’t know how even Ellen had managed raising Jo, and Ash, if you counted that scrawny tech wizard. If Benny didn’t know any better he’d say that boy was birthed from machine parts.

It wasn’t an idea he was totally adverse too—children that is, not weird kids and machines—and it was something he’d thought about before. He was lonely flying his route day in and out, stopping only at rest stops and night docks like Ellen’s. Sure he liked to cook, and it was a life he enjoyed, but settling down had a nice ring to it. First, though, he’d have to find someone willing to put up with him long enough to marry him, and vice versa. He loved Ellen, he really did, but she ran a tight ship, and made it clear to him a while ago that she wasn’t interested in remarrying.

Castiel was totally out of the question, for many reasons, most of which he didn’t even want to think about. He was lucky enough to even touch the man, let alone have sex with him on a regular basis. He was a damn fool to even entertain the idea of putting a ring on that man’s finger, even if he went about it the proper way. He shook his head, thinking about how Castiel would react. He’d probably sell the ring and use the money to hire an assassin on Benny’s ass, not like he needed the money, or an assassin, he was just as handy with a blade and a gun as any other. He sighed dreamily, remembering how Castiel’s body moved and flowed while he practiced swordsmanship, the time Benny stayed to watch while he was in Hierstafahad. Castiel had invited him, and Benny was most certainly eager.

“Got something else I can get a grip on?” Castiel had joked lasciviously, running his tongue over his teeth.

Benny groaned and hit his head against the wall. Now was _certainly_ not the time to be aroused. He heard a boom from above him and, yeah, no time to think about sex. He ran out on deck, looked up and cursed. The tail end of the first explosion was followed by the second, much louder and closer than Benny would have liked, the shockwave of it nearly flattened him to the deck. The ship above him was sinking into view—the convoy, there was no other explanation, but where were the other ships, its escorts?—and fire exploded out from its belly. Three smaller, sleeker silver ships rocketed past him, thundering in his ears and he ran to the rail.

“Fuck,” Benny uttered when he saw pieces of the ship falling through the air, directly above where he was conveniently parked. He could feel the heat of the fire on his face even from so far below. The ship continued to sink and he rushed back to the bridge. His ship was too old and cumbersome to coax any real speed that quickly, but if he could just clear the debris he knew he’d be able to steer clear before the whole damn ship fell on him. A disembodied, bloody leg dropped onto his upturned bridge window and shattered it.

“Christ!” He shouted, stumbling back from the broken glass and blood, and he accelerated as much as he could. He set it to auto and ran back out onto the deck to watch as debris rained around him, some larger pieces narrowly missing him as they plummeted to the ground. The larger ship was careening out of control, veering awfully close and Benny braced himself. The air was a mess of fire, smoke and noise, the screaming of overtaxed engines—both from Benny’s ship and the imperial vessel—and the grinding of metal on metal, the popping of bulkheads, like busted joints, and Benny could hardly think over the sound of complaining, screeching steel as it twisted and collapsed. Smaller bits of white hot metal fell onto the deck and Benny couldn’t even move to reach the fire extinguisher, he’d have to wait until it all ended and hoped the deck held out under the abuse.

Pieces of ceramic rained and rattled on the deck and Benny looked up for a glance of what else would fall on him. He gasped when he saw a body and he fought with himself for a second, battling with self-preservation and the need to help whoever it was, if they were still alive, and his heroism won out.

“Ah, _fuck it_ ,” he cursed and ran and tackled the man out of the air before he could hit the deck. He couldn’t’ avoid the guardrail and Benny was sheltered by the body in front of him, but he heard a sharp crack and he hastily pushed them both away. The man’s arm was bent unnaturally—his radius, ulna, both broken—and his face was covered in blood.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Benny muttered, dragging him back to the relative safety of the bridge. He jabbed his fingers under the man’s jaw, feeling for his pulse and nearly collapsed in relief when he felt a steady heartbeat, albeit slow. He rushed to tear his shirt to strips to fashion a splint and a sling, and setting the man’s broken bones was easy enough since he was unconscious, thank god. He wiped the blood from his face as best he could and was slightly taken aback by how gorgeous the young man was, like those shiny models he saw on the cover of old magazines and fading billboards on the ground. Old school beauty, with full lips and sweeping eyelashes, freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and high cheekbones. He sat back when he was done and was relieved when he found no source for the blood, it wasn’t his, and left the man on the floor with his arm carefully placed on his stomach. Benny sat there with his head in his hands until the roaring stopped.

He crawled out of the bridge when the noise stopped, when all he could hear was the hum of his own overworked engines. He looked down through the gap in the clouds and saw the fiery wreck below, burning away on the ground. He followed the smoke trail up through the sky and saw its origin point way above, still dark against the blue sky. Whoever was on that vessel must have been high profile, high enough to warrant such an attack. He knew things between the north and south were strained, but nothing so violent had happened off the battlefield in years. Terrorism wasn’t exactly common, not like in the old days, and it was seen as cowardly and barbaric.

He didn’t know who exactly he had on his ship now, whether he was one of the men aboard the imperial vessel or one of the terrorists, or even if he was the goddamn king himself, Benny wanted to get as far from the crash site as possible.

“I’m sorry baby,” he crooned when he pushed the engines just a little bit further, milking as much speed as he could muster. He wouldn’t put to port that night, he’d have to run for at least a few days straight to put any decent amount of distance between him and the crash, and he was struck with how fortunate he was that Ellen had given him that food, otherwise he’d be shit out of luck, would have to dig into the restaurant food and that would put him out of money. He’d probably have to anyway, now that he had a second mouth to feed. He slumped against the console for as long as he could keep himself still before he set to work clearing the deck. He kicked most of the debris free, watching it tumble to the ground, and then worked on heaving the heavier mess over the rails. No one lived on the ground around these parts, he didn’t need to worry about inadvertently killing anyone. He put out any remaining fires on deck and then came back for the man in the bridge. He paused when he saw the broken glass and the bloody leg on the floor. There was nothing else he could do but pick it up and run and throw it overboard as fast as he could before puking.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimaced, and then stooped to pick the man up. It wasn’t easy dragging the dead weight of a young adult male, and Benny opted out of trying to maneuver him down the ladder in the main hatch, taking him down the stairs to the freezer in the restaurant half of the ship. There was a secondary door there that led to the main hall, to Benny’s rooms, and it would be easier going. By the time he made it back to his room he was beyond worn out, ready to fall into bed and forget about anything else until he woke up hours later, but he couldn’t leave the poor guy on the floor. Benny sighed and heaved him up onto his bed, he bounced but still didn’t wake up, out cold, the poor bastard. He breathed through the sharp odor of urine but didn’t judge the guy, he’d do the same if he fell out of a ship thousands of feet in the air. He started by stripping him of his shoes, socks and soiled pants, pulling a fresh pair of boxers up his curiously bowed legs. He tried not to look at the man’s junk but it was kind of impossible. He tried not to dwell on it. Next he took off his half-burnt jacket and shirts beneath it, cutting around his bandaged arm to make it easier. He found an old tank top in his sock drawer and he carefully pulled his arms through the holes and shimmied it down over his shoulders and torso.

Once he cleaned him completely of blood and urine and anything else mucked over his skin he wrapped him in a fresh blanket and left him there on the bed. He stared at the guy and thought for a moment. If he was a terrorist, or—heaven forbid—an imperial soldier, technically he was Benny’s enemy. Even though Benny saved the guy’s life, he was still an intruder on imperial land, an unregistered citizen, and most soldiers he came across had to be persuaded to leave him be, with the help of his handy shotgun trained on their faces. Before he could think better of it he grabbed as many comforters and pillows he could carry and shuffled down to the bathroom. While the room itself wasn’t relatively large, the tub was.

He was a creature of comfort, and he was also a pretty big guy who enjoyed a good soak from time to time, and standard size tubs just didn’t cut it. He’d ordered this one special, extra long, extra wide, and he’d have no problem fitting all the blankets and things inside, transforming it into a pseudo bed. It felt weird locking an unconscious, injured man in a bathroom with only a bathtub to sleep in, but he had to be careful, he’d been crossed before, so when he carried the young man to the bathroom and carefully nestled him into the tub full of blankets and cushions he didn’t feel bad about it at all. Hell, the tub looked more comfortable than his decades old mattress did, thing had to be as old as his ship, if not older. He left him to sleep and shut the door, locking it with the master key.

 

Dean woke with a soft cry, flailing in the dark until the pain in his arm registered and he cried out, hunching over. He breathed through the pain and tried to focus on where he was. It was dark, but there was just enough light from beneath a door jamb for him to see. He squinted and made out the vague shape of a toilet.

“What the hell,” he croaked. He saw a spout protruding from the end of his “bed”—he made the connection and laughed, unhinged—and he pulled the warm blankets around his bare shoulders as tight as he could.

“From one tub to another.”

Wherever he was at least he was safe and warm and _alive_. He closed his eyes and all he saw was the fall, over and over like a corrupted vid-feed. Whoever had saved him went through the trouble of cleaning him up and dressing him in fresh clothes. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so horribly thankful. He didn’t want to try inspecting his arm, it was still throbbing from when he’d woken up. He laid his head back against the fluffy cushions behind him and breathed. The bathroom, and more specifically his clothes and blankets all smelled sharp and rich, a man’s scent. He pulled the blankets up to his nose, breathing and imagining what sort of man his rescuer was, or woman, he could have assumed wrong. He tried to readjust as best he could but it was just impossible. Each time he wriggled his neck to adjust the pillow behind him the blankets beneath him slipped on the ceramic and he rolled and hit the wall next to him. Sure it was padded, but it hurt like a bitch. He whimpered and shuffled around, consigning himself to his uncomfortable fate. Someone coughed outside the door and Dean froze.

“Hello?” he croaked, waiting to hear anything other than the pounding blood in his ears, “is anyone there?” He didn’t expect a response, but was surprised when the door clicked open and a freakishly large man struggled his way inside, juggling a tray laden with food and a cup of some steaming drink—coffee, he could smell it—and he didn’t even think and tried to lift himself up to help. He collapsed with a hiss, pain flaring white hot and sharp up his arm, and the man quickly set the tray and mug down on the sink, flicking on the light after.

“Careful, I wouldn’t move that arm if I were you.”

“What h-happened?”

“How much do you remember, for starters?”

“I was in the bathroom and then we were attacked, I think, the ship exploded, I fell…”

“You don’t need to worry about that now, I got you.”

“Thank you,” Dean breathed, still in shock at how incredibly lucky he was.

“No problem at all,” the man chuckled, easy smile on his lips. Dean caught himself smiling in response.

“As for that arm though, you broke it in the fall. I set it while you were out. Would you mind if I took one more look at it? To make sure everything’s in the right place, that is. Been a long time since I had to set a break that bad.”

“Okay,” Dean murmured, holding his arm out for the man to take. He was surprisingly gentle for someone his size, and Dean felt dwarfed when he leaned over to get a better look at his arm. Dean took the opportunity to really look at his keeper and he blushed when he got an up close view of his muscled chest. He glanced away quickly, daring only smaller looks after that. His hair was short, shorter than Dean’s, but about the same shade. Laugh lines framed his clear eyes, and the lower half of his face was covered in a well-trimmed beard. Dean swallowed when he saw the man’s muscles bunch and move under the thin cotton of his tee-shirt. He’d never given much thought to what he personally found attractive, but he was beginning to get a good idea. It was the way the much larger man cradled his arm so gently, kneading along the length, and while it did hurt he understood the necessity of it. His muttered reassurances and praises made Dean squirm, and thanked whatever god was listening when the man thought it was because Dean was in pain.

“I’m Benny by the way,” he said once he wrapped Dean’s arm again, “Benny Lafitte, restaurant owner, operator and pilot.”

Dean smiled and pulled his arm close again. He didn’t know what to say to the man, didn’t know where his allegiances lied. He bit his lip and decided on the truth, it would out soon enough, he might as well be the one to do it.

 

“I’m D-Dean Winchester, crown prince of the northern kingdom.”

Benny swallowed thickly and leaned back away from the tub. Dean Winchester, a prince, on his ship, in his bathtub…

“Oh shit, uh, sorry your highness, I didn’t mean to stick you in a _bathtub_ I mean, fuck, I should have given you my bed—”

“No, no, it’s perfectly comfortable,” the prince interrupted quickly, fidgeting with his bandages, “I’m not kidding, couldn’t even tell I was in a bathtub,” he laughed.

“As long as you’re sure…” Benny said.

“I’m sure,” the prince smiled again, this time seeming a bit more sincere.

“Well alright,” Benny said. He brought the tray over from the sink and settled it in the prince’s lap and fussed for a minute over making sure it was secure, that he was comfortable, not too hot, not too cold, and the prince bore his fussing with gentle patience.

“Sorry your highness,” Benny laughed, “not exactly used to having royalty for company.”

“Please,” the prince interrupted, “just call me Dean. I’m not all that, um, comfortable with protocol and such…”

“Right, of course,” Benny said, flustered. Of course the guy wouldn’t want some stranger groveling and kowtowing at his feet, he’d just fallen out of an exploding air ship.

“Um, did you happen to find a communicator in my clothes?” Dean asked after a few bites of grilled cheese, “a small, black metal and glass device, about 3 by 5 inches?”

“Can’t say I did, sorry.”

Dean frowned and poked at the bowl of tomato soup at the corner of the tray. Now that he’d eaten and rested, color was returning to his cheeks and he didn’t look nearly so spooked, not like only hours before when Benny first brought him into the bathroom. He’d been white as a sheet.

“How are you feeling, besides your arm? Did you know anyone on the ship? Or anyone who’d want to kill you?”

The prince smirked wryly, staring down at his coffee.

“Plenty people want me dead, I’ve got about 20 cousins in line for the throne behind me who’d love to take me out of the picture.”

Benny winced.

“But I don’t think it was my family,” Dean said, “I was on my way to secure a final stipulation in a peace treaty between my kingdom and the south, it would have put an end to the war.”

“Now that’d be a sight to see.”

“Indeed. But it looks like peace won’t come for a while, not while my family believes me dead and _especially_ not while my would-be killers are still on the loose.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well.”

Dean shut his mouth and glanced up at Benny. He took a few more bites of the grilled cheese and washed it down with the rest of the soup and coffee. His hand was shaking.

“I’m scared shitless,” Dean finally said, almost too soft to hear.

After that, Benny made Dean’s health—physical and mental—his top priority, even above caring for his business. He’d developed a large amount of savings, enough to last him for a few months without business, and until he figured out what to do with Dean he thought it would be best to keep off the commercial track, to stay low and just avoid any and all vessels around them. Like Dean said, his attackers were still out there, and while they most likely thought their attack was a success, there was no telling who they’d run into while they were still in the area.

After Dean’s arm healed enough and he recovered enough stamina to walk, Benny took him on a tour of the ship, avoiding the deck for the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure it was safe for Dean to come out yet. Dean agreed, and busied himself during the day with familiarizing himself with the engine room and the kitchen, his face alight with glee. Benny showed him how to prepare his own meals which delighted the young prince to no end, though Benny had no idea why, but as long as he continued to smile and laugh and remain active Benny couldn’t really complain.

The first day Benny let him out on the deck, Dean stood in the center of it with his eyes closed, breathing in the fresh air, soaking the sun into his starved flesh. After only a few days Benny already saw his skin darkening and his hair sparking to gold in the sunlight, the picture of youth and vitality. Even his eyes seemed to be greener than before, like the evergreens he’d heard about, he’d only seen pictures, but he imagined their richness to be similar to the prince’s verdant, laughing eyes.

Benny hadn’t really addressed the main problem at hand, what to do next. Dean was safe enough on his ship, for now, but his family thought he was dead, surely Dean wanted to go back to put their grieving to an end? But he didn’t seem to be in any real hurry. He was, dare he say it, enjoying Dean’s company, and he didn’t want him to leave either.

One night about a week later, Benny brought out the booze. He hadn’t really had the time to drink the rest of his favorite beer—thanks to his contacts, straight from the source—and he figured now was as good a time as any. Dean shyly refused a whole bottle of his own but Benny poured him a small cup anyway. That small cup turned into a bigger cup, another, and then that cup turned into 5 bottles of the stuff, and Dean was lucky he was sitting down, otherwise he’d fall flat on his face with the way he was swaying with the ship.

Dean was a giggly drunk, something Benny was happy to learn, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it if Dean had been handsy, or heaven forbid an angry drunk. No matter what Benny said Dean nearly laughed his ass out of his chair and Benny had to right him more than once, chuckling himself.

“I keep thinking this whole thing was a good… _thing_ , you know?” Dean slurred, “sure I nearly died, pissed my pants yeah that sucked, but, uh, at least I don’t have to marry a crusty old guy.”

Dean was chuckling to himself but Benny was suddenly all too sober.

“Gotta…gotta go do my duty for the family,” Dean groused, and Benny assumed he was mocking someone else, “’cause apparently all I can do is just stand around and look pretty, yeah, all I’m good for.”

“Dean…”

“No, no, it’s what I was raised for, you know. S-Sammy, he got to do whatever the fuck he wanted but I had to keep my clothes clean, I can’t party, I can’t dance like the other kids do,” he giggled, “a guy tried to put his hand on my ass at a ball once and a bodyguard broke his arm.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you anyway.”

“I asked him to, I wanted it, and I couldn’t have it,” Dean frowned down at his empty bottle, petulant and childlike. “I had to cover for Sam so many times when he went out with his friends. Oh, Sammy’s sick, oh, Sammy’s in the shower, oh, Sammy’s sleeping he can’t come to the _phone_ right now.”

Dean made a clumsy grab for Benny’s bottle, though it only had about one or two more sips left in it. Benny, against his better judgment, let him have it.

“You know this is the first time I’ve had alcohol?”

“It shows,” Benny joked wryly.

“Yeah, not even allowed champagne at balls and meetings and things, not even my own birthday parties, as pathetic as those were. You know how many times Sammy’s been drunk? Too many times to count, and I took care of him every time, held his hair out of his face when he puked in the toilet. I was d-disgusted with him but that’s just…that’s a lie, I was jealous, am jealous. He gets to do whatever he wants. He didn’t even have his communicator on when I left. It could have been the last time I saw him—terrorist attack or not—and he didn’t…he didn’t care enough to just turn his fucking communicator on.”

“I’m really sorry, Dean,” Benny murmured, pulling the bottle out of his hand. Dean let him and he went oddly quiet, looking too sober and altogether too old for his age.

“When Sam was playing outside with his friends, I was inside learning about sex, about what to _expect_ ,” he hissed. “When Sam went abroad on a ‘road trip,’ I was stuck at home, reading and memorizing random, stupid facts about all the kingdoms and their histories. I was taught how to please both men and women, but not how to please myself, fucking pathetic,” Dean whimpered, burying his head in his hand.

“Maybe I should have gone down with the ship,” Dean whispered, and Benny saw he was crying, “if I really died, then I wouldn’t have to go back to all that. They wouldn’t make me…”

He trailed off with a sob. Benny busied himself with peeling the label from one of the bottles, unsure if Dean was finished speaking.

“You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to,” Benny said after a few more strained minutes of silence.

“Of course I have to go back,” Dean snarled, “I’m second in line, without me the throne would go to Sammy, and believe you me, that’d be an ugly day for mankind.”

“You don’t believe in your brother?”

“Didn’t you hear what all I just said? He’s a partier, a drunk, he doesn’t understand politics, he doesn’t understand what our father would use him for, he wasn’t raised for this, I was, it’s my place and mine alone.”

“Seems to me like someone out there isn’t too keen on you having that place.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean snorted, “maybe they should have been a little more thorough.”

“You don’t mean that,” Benny soothed, “that’s just the alcohol talking.”

“Alcohol doesn’t _talk_ ,” Dean whispered, scandalized, and Benny chuckled. He stood and Dean watched him move about the cabin, picking up all the empties. He put them in the sink for the time being, and then he went back to scoop Dean up in his arms.

“Hey, whoa, put me down!”

“You think you can walk?”

Dean panted and glared, but didn’t argue when Benny carried him out into the hallway. Dealing with drunks was something Benny could handle no problem, Dean was no exception. The prince settled his head on Benny’s chest, clingy and sleep-soft and pliant in all the right ways, and Benny swallowed and sped up. Dean groaned when Benny jostled him, trying to open the door and keep him from dropping at the same time. Once safely stowed in the bathroom Benny stripped him of his too-large flannel and sweats, depositing him in the tub once he was down to boxers and his tank top.

“Good night, Dean, sleep well.”

“Good night,” Dean murmured, catching Benny’s head before he could straighten. His grip was shaky and weak, but Benny didn’t dare move when Dean stared up at him. He was obviously more than a little fuzzy from drink, and, frowning, he leaned up to kiss him on the lips. It was a soft, regal feeling little thing that left Benny warm and a little fuzzy himself.

“Good night,” Dean repeated, sinking back into the tub, eyes already closed.

 

Benny woke sometime later, on edge, feeling like he was being watched, and he slowly pushed his arm under his pillow to grip his old pistol hidden underneath. The bed dipped by his waist and he tensed but he felt familiar hands skim over his chest, he smelled the delicate scent of spice and honey, and he heard his favorite warm and whisky rough voice shush him when he stirred.

“You have a stowaway in your bathtub,” Castiel chuckled, kissing his sleep slack lips.

“What’re you doin’ here…?” Benny slurred with a grin, dragging the merchant until he got the hint and slid fully onto the bed to rest on his chest.

“Was in the middle of an overnight run and noticed this old rust bucket in my way. You didn’t lock up, baby.”

Benny groaned, he knew he forgot something last night, but he had been too drunk to care. Castiel tutted and pecked his cheek with a fond smile.

“Don’t worry, my gunships have us surrounded, we’re safe.”

Benny relaxed and dragged his hand out from under his pillow. Castiel brought his other leg around to straddle Benny’s hips, grinning and impish when he stroked Benny’s bare chest.

“What’re you up to,” Benny groaned when Castiel rolled his hips.

“What if I were some sort of pirate,” Castiel murmured, “what would you do? Pull that old pistol on me?” He smiled and licked his lips.

“I’d think of something,” Benny mused, grasping the man’s undulating hips. Castiel hummed when Benny bucked up, the hard line of his cock settled under the merchant’s ass and they both gasped.

“Gonna punish this old brigand?” Castiel growled, leaning down to nip at his chest and Benny hissed when he caught on his left nipple.

“God, you’re insatiable.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right.”

“Missed you,” Castiel whispered, kissing him, “missed your body.”

“Just my body?”

“Oh, baby,” Castiel crooned, “did I hurt your feelings?”

Benny chuckled and let his fingers prod between Castiel’s cheeks, finding him open and ready, burning and slick and Benny nearly throbbed with the need to be buried in him as soon as he could muster.

“What’d you do? What if I wanted to open up this tight ass of yours myself?” Benny laughed.

“None of your business,” Castiel grinned, all teeth.

 

Dean woke with a sneeze and shuddered for a moment under the blankets. It was freezing, someone had left a door open somewhere he was sure of it. He climbed out of his tub-bed and shivered, accidentally knocking his bandaged arm against the door frame as he left. He hissed and staggered down the hallway, rubbing his bicep. He pulled the blanket he brought with him tighter around his shoulders, it was _cold_ , he was chilled to the bone, and he paused at one of the portholes. It wasn’t open, none of them were. He tapped at the glass and frowned. He squinted and looked out at the lumbering, massive clouds moving slowly by, at the moonlight playing along the tops and they seemed like roiling, swelling waves. He shivered and stepped away. He came across the ladder and latch to the deck, it was wide open. He scowled and looked around.

“Benny?” He called, waiting for a response. All he heard was the frigid wind whistling down through the opening. He groaned and dropped his blanket, grabbing Benny’s heavy peacoat by the ladder, throwing it on even though it swamped him. He put the blanket back around his shoulders and set his jaw and climbed. It was hard going, climbing with one arm wasn’t exactly easy, but at least he could brace his back against the wall behind him to grab the next rung.

He made it to the top and pulled himself over, stepping out on deck. He glanced at the harpoon gun resting just below the lip of the hatch and clenched his fist. He decided against it and stepped around the deck, bracing against the gusts of wind that swept across the deck. There was an unusual amount of turbulence for this time of night. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he stepped through the kitchen, double checking that everything was in its place, and left again. He didn’t need a flashlight at all, the moon was so bright, almost as much as the sun on an overcast day. He squinted and looked back out at the clouds. He almost thought he saw something darker between two enormous cumulous. He blinked at it was gone.

He sighed and looked up at the clear sky above him, at the stars he couldn’t see from his homeland, too much light pollution and cloud cover. He traced over the constellations he knew, and others he didn’t, looking back to the overly bright, full moon, and blinked again, walking to the guardrail. This time he was sure he saw something. A straight edge jutting from a dash of wispy cloud at least 50 yards from the deck. He gripped the rail and squinted, following the line until it disappeared under heavier cloud cover. He looked around and saw another, not even 30 yards away.

He staggered to the opposite side of the deck, looking below the ship as well as he could, squinting. More of them, all around in a circle, flanking the ship. One wasn’t as low as the others, and it was much larger, it rose free of the clouds and Dean gaped up at it. A ship, a sleek, midnight blue smuggler’s vessel, he could recognize the ship’s build. It was designed for stealth and speed, its hull would be much thicker than any commercial vessel, and he gulped when he saw the turrets at the fore and aft bows. The smaller vessels rose above the cover as well, revealing their black hulls and heavily outfitted flanks, merchant gunships. The clouds clung and blew away from their hulls like smoke and Dean staggered back from the rail to the hatch.

He nearly fell trying to climb down the ladder. He banged his arm against the last rung and he bit back a scream, bracing himself against the wall, curling up as much as he was able. He wheezed and shook off Benny’s coat, leaving it by the hatch. He pressed the button Benny had showed him before, the one to close the hatch, and didn’t leave until he saw it seal shut with a small pop. He limped down the hall as quickly as he could to get to Benny’s room, hoping he could reach him in time and that there was _something_ the grizzled cook could do to save them.

 

Castiel collapsed, boneless, onto his chest with a happy sigh, sated grin pressed against Benny’s cheek.

“D’you have fun?” Benny drawled, patting Castiel’s bare ass.

“Mhmm…” Castiel hummed as he arched back into his touch. Benny grumbled when he slipped out of Castiel’s warm, slick body and the merchant sighed again.

Before Benny could toss his quilt over them his cabin door burst open and banged against the opposite wall. Dean tumbled inside, sleep disheveled and short of breath.

“Benny! Benny, there are merchant gunships all around— _oh_ …”

Benny quickly attempted to cover up but with Castiel an unmoving weight on his chest—the man was like a dead octopus after sex—he couldn’t get far, and he could see the blush on Dean’s face practically glowing in the gloom.

“Oh, is this the stowaway?” Castiel groaned, heaving himself off of Benny onto the bed beside him.

“’M not a stowaway…” Dean grumbled from his spot by the door, suddenly sheepish and childlike as he shuffled his feet.

“I know who you are, your highness. But royalty or not, a _stowaway_ you are.”

Dean bristled and Benny clamped a warning grip on Castiel’s still clothed shoulder. Castiel shrugged him off, though not unkindly.

“They were searching through the wreckage when I passed over the crash site a week ago, but I’ve heard that they’ve since stopped. Your secret is safe with me, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Rejecting your birthright?” Castiel admonished as he rolled gracefully to his feet to rearrange his clothes. Benny felt both horribly exposed and inexplicably turned on with naught but a blanket covering his naked body and his spend leaking down Castiel’s bare thighs for all who cared to look, and Dean was most definitely looking. His eyes darted over to meet Benny’s and then he glanced away again just as quickly.

“You can do what you wish, I won’t tell a soul, as I’ve said,” Castiel chimed as he pulled on his loose, midnight blue pants.

“Thank you,” Dean whispered, half in and half out the door. He looked spooked and his cheeks were still flaming red. Benny felt guilty for being caught with the clear signs of their sex still stinking up the room and their general state of undress, not to mention the kiss marks covering Benny’s chest and neck, and the matching bruises on Castiel’s own neck. He had the decency to be embarrassed, but not by the act. Castiel looked between the two of them with pursed lips before he stooped to retrieve his jacket as well.

“You two have fun, I’ll take my leave. I’m afraid I must continue on my route, but I’ll leave you a gunship. Your ship is pitifully outfitted for defense, and you’ll need all the help you can get.” Castiel said before he swept from the room, brushing up unnecessarily against Dean as he left. He left behind the smell of cinnamon and milk, and when Benny licked his lips he tasted honey and cardamom.

Benny stayed in bed, and Dean stood by the door, and finally he cleared his throat and was ready to invent some crazy story when Dean coughed and stepped further into the room.

“Are you alright?” Benny asked.

“Do you have an extra blanket and pillow? It’s why I got up in the first place, I was, um, cold.”

Benny could only nod and scramble to yank his trousers up his hips. He slid out of bed and Dean glanced away, waiting by the door with his hand clasped loosely in front of him, injured arm turned away to the door while Benny rummaged through the trunk in his closet. He pulled out an old quilt his mother made for him and a spare, coverless pillow.

“You know you don’t have to sleep in the bathtub, I can sleep there and you can take my bed and—”

“Good night,” Dean said stiffly as he took the blanket and pillow from Benny’s arms, shutting the door behind him. Benny stood in front of the door with his hands still out in front of him. Dean’s fingers had grazed his arm when he took the quilt from him, the accidental touch was still a blazing trail of imagined heat, and he absently rubbed over the spot when he walked back to his bed.

His sheets were a mess, he dragged them off and threw the quilt down over his mattress. It was a hot night anyway.

 

He woke the next morning to his ship’s gentle drones and the soft whistles of the air moving around them, just like usual.

“That man’s back.”

“Fuck!”

Benny rolled out of bed and hit the floor, hard, and he scrambled to yank his pistol out from under the pillow. He was about to shoot holes through whoever was in his room who had gotten the drop on him but then he looked up and sagged. He let the pistol droop in his wobbly grip, it was just Dean.

He was in a plain, threadbare blue bathrobe—one of the few things Benny had given him to wear that didn’t swamp him like a tent—and he was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He looked like he was fresh from the shower with flushed cheeks and limp, damp hair. His lips were pulled down in a judgmental frown with one of his eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline. To say he looked disgruntled would be putting it lightly. His arm was bandaged more than usual and he had it in a sling, he hadn’t used that in days, maybe the air pressure was getting to him.

“Wh-who’s back?” Benny finally stammered, voice raspy from sleep. Dean pointedly looked out the porthole above Benny’s bed. Benny looked as well and saw an extremely familiar, sleek blue ship.

“I got up early this morning, figured I’d make us both some coffee and see how much more speed we can coax out of this ship when I saw them.”

“Uh huh…”

“He’s up on the deck, by the way, told me to let you sleep in, said you _really_ wore yourself out last night.”

“Listen, I…”

“He’s also drinking all of your coffee and says it’s shit.”

Dean stood and walked out of the room. Benny still had the pistol pointed in front of him and he tossed it onto the bed with a grimace. He hadn’t known Dean for long, but he could tell the man was upset. He scratched the back of his head and sighed, pulling himself to his feet. He winced and rubbed his elbow—it’d bruise for sure—and took his time dressing. He didn’t bother with shaving or a shower, it would only be putting off the inevitable confrontation waiting for him if he tried to go to the bathroom, Dean would surely be holed up in there. It wouldn’t even be a confrontation. Benny was swiftly discovering that Dean favored stony silence over direct argumentation. It was a cold technique that was working like a charm. He groaned and wanted to bury his face in his pillow and scream. If only he knew what he did wrong then he could start working to fix it. Last he checked this was _his_ ship, _not_ Dean’s, and he could do whatever he damn well pleased on it. Satisfied, he left to head to the deck.

He came to the bottom of the hatch and frowned, his coat was on the floor, and so was a blanket. He shrugged and grabbed his peacoat and pulled it on before he climbed the ladder, pushing the hatch open. Cool air immediately whipped through the folds of his coat and he shuddered, pulling himself up onto the deck so he could properly button up. Dean was nowhere to be seen, but Castiel was sitting on one of the restaurant chairs by the railing with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, in Benny’s favorite mug no less, the bastard.

He was always more stunning in sunlight, though moonlight was certainly more alluring on his smooth, tan skin, and Benny liked to watch him sleep on the rare nights Castiel stayed in bed with him. He was more bundled up now than last night, the mornings were always chillier on this part of the map, and Benny couldn’t see an inch of bare skin on him now, besides his rosy cheeked face that peeked out from under a black fisherman’s cap and a thick knit scarf—several, he noticed as he approached—and the heavy, fur lined lapels of his winter coat.

“You’re wearing my hat.”

“My head was cold.”

Benny picked it off his head and Castiel hissed and shuffled lower in his seat.

“Your little homemaker is such a little ray of sunshine this morning.”

“He’s not my anything, and I’m not surprised. He’s upset about something, he’s giving me the cold shoulder,” Benny said.

“What could he be upset about?”

“I don’t know and that’s the problem.”

Castiel chuckled and sipped his coffee.

“Suppose you come to visit me some months from now late at night, you open my door and see that I’m in bed with a stranger, would this surprise you?”

“No,” Benny snorted.

“And suppose I do the same to you, how do you think I would feel?”

“Knowing you, you’d strip and ask to join.”

“Exactly,” Castiel purred, his eyes narrowed and sly, “because I am me, and you are you. We have our own tastes and expectations of each other, what we have is casual, something not many people have or even understand.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Dean was upset.”

“I don’t believe he’s upset at all. He’s a young, socially stifled youth who happened to walk in on his dashing savior going hot and heavy under the sheets with a complete stranger. It’s something he’s never seen before.”

“How do you know he’s never seen something like that?”

“I can _smell_ virgins,” he cackled, “and it’s hardly a stretch of the imagination. With his upbringing I’d be surprised if he knew a dick from a dildo.”

“Oh come on,” Benny laughed, “he told me himself he was given ‘the talk,’ said it was part of his education growing up.”

“Diagrams and ‘insert tab A into slot B’ does _not_ a sexually educated man make.”

“So, what, you think he’s…frustrated?”

Castiel’s answering Cheshire grin was almost frightening.

“Someone give the man a medal.”

Benny scoffed and didn’t bring it up again. He knew what frustrated looked like, this wasn’t it. Dean was angry, and acting completely juvenile, but Benny would let it run its course. If Dean was angry, or even frustrated as Castiel claimed, then confronting him would be explosive for the both of them, he didn’t want to risk it.

“Ah, there’s the prince now.”

“You best stop that,” Benny warned with a grin, “he don’t like that one bit.”

“I know,” Castiel smiled as he waved at Dean. The young man scowled and veered away to head to the bridge instead. Benny shoved Castiel’s shoulder and the man squeaked when coffee spilled over onto his leather gloves. Benny left him there by the rail to head to the kitchen, he was starving and knowing their luck they’d run into a random scouting team with empty stomachs. Last thing he needed were disgruntled troops on the same vessel as Dean with a temper.

He left some steak to thaw in the sink and he fixed a fresh pot of coffee. He prepared two cups and made his way to the bridge. Dean was still standing in front of the controls, staring at them. Benny walked up and stood next to him, handing him a cup. Dean took it without a word, and Benny glanced sidelong at his face, to try and judge his mood. He still looked stormy, but not in the petulant, uncontrollable way that Benny had no hope of predicting.

“The one thing they didn’t teach me in all those lessons at all those schools was how to fly a damn ship.” Dean finally said, sipping his coffee. Benny grunted and drank as well.

“I feel useless.”

“Hm.”

“But I know I’m not useless.”

“It’s true.”

“But I can’t even pilot a ship.”

“It’s not exactly easy.”

“I know but…I feel like I should.”

“You want me to teach you?”

Dean shifted, some of his earlier discomfort reappearing on his face.

“I don’t know what good it would do, once I’m back home they probably won’t allow me on an airship for the rest of my life.”

“Would save you from being shipped off to marry someone against your will,” Benny joked, but Dean remained pensive. “And you don’t even need to go home if you don’t want to, like I said before.”

Dean frowned and took a deeper drink of his coffee.

“I have to,” he repeated.

Benny set his mug on the counter and sighed.

“I know the life I lead here might not be the most glamorous of things, hell, Castiel captains a flying palace, but even for him life in the skies ain’t easy. But I know what I saw last night, Dean. Last night you were upset about going back, don’t even deny it.”

Dean closed his mouth when he had been about to interject.

“Even if you wanted to leave with Castiel for a while, to live in something resembling the luxury you no doubt had at home, I won’t blame you.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with him.” Dean interrupted, blushing. Benny held up his hand to stop him and Dean shook his head, pushing his arm down. “He’s kind of a jerk.”

“A jerk? He’s one of the nicest guys I know.” Benny said, slightly affronted on his friend’s behalf.

Dean blushed and fiddled with the handle on his mug. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snapped.

“No, really, what did he do?”

“Last night he sort of…rubbed up on me…”

“What?”

“He groped me, alright? Fucker grabbed my dick.”

“Jesus Christ,” Benny groaned and took Dean’s arm and led him from the bridge, out into the frigid, windy air. Castiel saw them coming and scrambled out of his chair and leapt onto the guardrail, vaulting across the gap between their two ships, catching himself on his ship’s rail.

“Get back here!” Benny growled and Castiel laughed and turned, leaning onto the ship with his elbows and heels, utterly unconcerned about the sheer drop beneath them, clouds drifting beneath their ships.

“Sorry, no chance of that.”

“Fine, get out of here and stop wasting my coffee and food!”

 “High security area ahead, normally I’d risk it but with the changed political climate I don’t think that’s wise. I can’t go anywhere and neither can you, guess you’re stuck with me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

“Relax…” Castiel laughed, “we’re going to change course in a few minutes to head down to land, its why I came back aboard this morning, to tell you and ask if you wanted to come along.”

Benny glanced behind him and Dean was standing there a few steps away. He walked over to him and pulled him to the rails, gruffly, but his patience had worn out.

“First apologize!” Benny shouted over at the merchant who had clambered up onto the deck of his much larger ship. They both had to crane their necks up to see his silhouetted, grinning form.

“I’m sorry I threw your favorite mug overboard,” Castiel shouted down at them, and Benny scowled.

“That’s not what I meant, and you’re replacing that, by the way.”

Castiel laughed again and this time his face showed some sincerity.

“I’m sorry about last night, your highness, I was feeling a little uppity.”

 _More like marking your territory_ , Benny thought. Dean forced a smile and squinted up at him.

“N-No harm, no foul.”

“Right,” Castiel said, and he disappeared from the side, and a moment later his ship sunk down until their decks were the same level. He was leaning against the rails and he held a map in his hand.

“Now,” he shouted over the wind, “my headquarters are about a half day’s journey from here if we stay low, avoid checkpoints, and stay at your maximum speed. Can she manage it?”

“She’ll manage fine,” Benny said, patting the rails in front of him.

“Excellent,” Castiel purred, snapping the map shut with a flick of his wrist. “Bring us about,” he shouted behind him at his crew, “make sail for Hierstafahad, keep engines at 50%, keep speed with the other vessel.”

“Aye, sir!”

“Hierstafahad?” Dean said, “I know that name from somewhere.”

“You would,” Benny said as they walked back to the bridge, “it’s the imperial city of the eastern kingdom.”

“The eastern kingdom,” Dean muttered. Benny paused.

“Is that okay, I mean, uh, no one there’s gonna want to like, kill you or anything right?”

Dean laughed and shook his head.

“No, we have no quarrel with the eastern kingdom.”

“That’s good.”

“I’ve never seen it before, I can’t imagine many people have.”

“You’d be right. It’s secluded and strict with security, extremely private.”

“And this… _Castiel_ , his home is there?”

“More or less.”

“Hm.”

“You’re surprised?”

“I never took the eastern kingdom to be particularly understanding of pirates.”

Benny laughed again and flipped the switch from auto to manual pilot, entering the coordinates he already knew so well.

“Castiel’s not a pirate, don’t let his behavior fool you.”

“So a thug then.” Dean frowned.

“ _Lord_ ,” Benny chuckled, “where are you getting these ideas from? He’s a spice merchant, deals only in the finest of eastern spices, straight from the source. He’s seen you before, knew who you were just by looking at you. I wager he’s made many a trip to your side of the world.”

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, he’s your friend.”

“Don’t be, you deserve to be angry with him. He’ll grow on you in time.”

Dean smiled and looked away, blushing. Benny pursed his lips and looked back to the controls while Dean shifted closer to watch, picking at his bandage.

“How’s your arm today? You’ve got it wrapped up more than usual.”

“Oh, um, I accidentally banged it up pretty badly last night.”

“You want me to take a look?”

“No, no, its fine, I just need to let it heal and stop falling down ladder shafts.”

Benny winced and couldn’t bring himself to look at the poor man.

“I’m really sorry about last night.”

“It’s fine…”

“It obviously isn’t,” Benny grumbled, finally turning to look, planting his hip on the control board. Dean fidgeted, blushed, but held his gaze, green eyes blazing same as always. “I should have told you about Castiel and his tendency to come aboard unannounced. I wasn’t expecting him to show up last night, and I’m sorry if it frightened you.”

Dean smiled wryly and shuffled his feet.

“Like you said, you had no idea, it’s not your fault.”

“Well I just feel like I should apologize, man, you just seemed, I don’t know, angry?”

“W-why would I be angry?” Dean stammered, frowning.

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“But I’m _not_ angry!”

“Then why are you yelling?!”

“Because _you_ are, you _oaf!_ ”

Benny stopped, heaving and flustered. Dean was disheveled and somehow had backed Benny into a corner. He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his sling, and smoothed his hair back with a shaky hand.

“I’m…I’m not angry…” Dean whispered, stepping closer. Benny didn’t dare move. He let Dean walk up and stop right in front of him, barely inches away. He searched Dean’s upturned face, waiting for some sort of sign, emotion, something, and while Dean still wasn’t moving, he didn’t look so angry anymore either. Dean swayed closer, his eyes falling half-shut, and Benny tentatively reached out to hold his shoulders, gentle and slow. Dean flinched but didn’t move. His mouth dropped open and Benny glanced down at his lips, puffed and red and slick.

“Do you…?” Dean murmured.

“Do I what?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Benny smiled softly.

“I don’t know why not, cher.”

Dean wrinkled his nose and grinned, stepping up on his tiptoes, bracing himself on Benny’s chest to reach his lips. Benny pulled him closer and deepened the press of their lips, humming when Dean gave just as hard as he got, licking at the seal of their lips, just barely nipping at Benny’s lower lip. Dean stepped back and put his hand over his mouth, blinking and blushing but Benny didn’t let him get far.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, and for once Benny believed him, he was grinning ear to ear.

 

They reached Hierstafahad in hours, and it was the first time in his life Dean had ever flown east. He thought they’d at least stop at a checkpoint or go through some inspection or something. But all they did was slow their speed and pass through the heavily armed gate. The air felt thicker here, smelling rich and clean and completely different from the thinner air he was used to.

“We’re closer to the sea,” Benny explained, “that’s what you smell.”

“The sea,” Dean whispered, straining his eyes for a glimpse of it on the horizon.

“You won’t be able to see it,” Benny laughed, “I’ll take you there sometime.”

“Okay,” Dean blushed. Benny smiled down at him and pulled him against his side, gentle and always careful of his arm.

“I mean it, Dean,” Benny said, “I’d take you anywhere you want, we don’t have to go north ever again if you don’t want to.”

“Just give me some time,” Dean said, squeezing Benny’s arm. Benny nodded and turned back to the controls. They followed Castiel’s ship to a rather impressive docking station, pulling up beside the merchant’s much larger vessel.

“I’ve never been on land before,” Dean said right before taking the last step off the ship, giddy. His tutors had filled his head with stories of pollution, crime, poverty, but when Dean walked out onto the dock all he saw was a bustling, thriving port city, full of life and color, sights and sounds he’d never seen before in his life, not even at the palace. People of all sizes, genders and colors wandered around the streets and vendors lining the walkways, groups of gaudily dressed women roamed with tittering laughs and sly smiles behind large paper fans and enormous sleeves, and when Castiel emerged from his ship he was greeted by a chorus of cheers and a swarm of people all around him holding up bolts of fine cloth and baskets of richly colored spices all the colors of the sun. He smiled and made his way through the crowd, and Dean noted the open admiration in the people’s faces all around him, at the way they reacted when Castiel greeted them personally or touched their faces with gentle fingers or a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Uh, Benny? Who, exactly, is Castiel?”

Benny laughed and watched the other man approach.

“I might have stretched the truth a bit when I said he was _just_ a merchant.”

“Really,” Dean huffed.

“Come on, then, I’ll take you back to the house so you can rest,” Castiel said, coming up to meet them. He gestured for them to follow and they quickly made their way through the crowd, the people around them parting easily to let them pass. They followed him through several side streets and through several blockades until they were alone, just Dean, Castiel, Benny, and a few other assorted men from Castiel’s ship. The building in front of them was understated but large, sprawling out farther than Dean could see on either side of him, split into smaller subsections and towers, all clean white rock and dark, almost black filigreed accents along the ridges lining the walls. Once inside Castiel dismissed the remaining men and they ventured even further into the building, the castle, Dean realized.

“Benny, why don’t you head to your usual room, I’ll send Dean down in a few minutes.”

“Castiel…”

“I’d like to speak with him in private, if that’s alright with you?” The smaller man snapped, straightening to his full height. Benny floundered, and Dean strayed in his direction but Castiel grasped his hand, gently pulling him the other direction.

“You go on, now, it’s alright,” Benny said, looking more at Castiel than Dean. He blushed and shuffled, pulling his hand free from Castiel’s. The merchant—or whatever he was—chuckled and stepped into the room beside them, waiting for Dean to follow. Dean paused, glancing once more at Benny who smiled and nodded, turning the corner. Dean swallowed and followed Castiel into his rooms. The interior was an almost shocking juxtaposition to the exterior of the building, an explosion of color and scent, fabrics of blue and yellow and gold lay strewn all over the divans and cushions on the floor, a jumbled, warm nest of color and comfort with an enormous round bed in the center. Castiel wandered to a window, rather a row of windows lining the far wall, open and breezy and everything about the man’s room screamed comfort, home, opulence and wealth.

“Come here,” Castiel said, patting a cushion by his side. Dean, against his better judgment, joined him. Castiel smiled and pulled a few robes from his side and held them up to Dean’s skin, his face.

“Gold would look good on you,” he murmured, discarding the black and blue number in his arms for a lighter color.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, trying to stay patient. Castiel sighed and tossed the clothes away.

“Listen, Dean. I know you don’t like me all that much, and I haven’t exactly done much to deserve your affection, but please listen to me.”

Dean leaned his back against the opposite side of the window frame and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve known Benny for almost a decade now, and not once have we talked about feelings or love or anything like that. That’s not what our relationship is like.”

“So you just used him for sex, is that it?”

“It’s a two way street, boy, Benny wants it no strings attached and I’m willing to give it to him. However,” Castiel spoke over Dean’s angered groan, “I can tell Benny would stop fucking me whenever he wanted, for you.”

“Gee, such a sacrifice.”

“Such a gentleman,” Castiel grinned, feral and all teeth, “little prince has a bit of a bite.”

“Who are you?” Dean asked, fighting his building exasperation.

“Castiel, merchant, crowned prince and 10th in line for the throne.”

Dean blinked, slumping against the window frame.

“Huh…”

“Nice to meet you.”

“How are you able to leave all the time?” Was the first thing Dean thought to blurt. Castiel laughed and the tension between them broke like a dam. Dean grinned and relaxed instantly.

“I leave whenever I want, Dean. My life, I think, has been significantly different than yours.”

They talked for what felt like hours, laughing and exchanging stories and Dean didn’t even notice he’d moved until Castiel was pressed against his side, slighter but firm. He laughed when Dean told him about all the times he’d stolen food from the kitchens, and Dean could feel the vibrations through his chest. Castiel placed his head on his shoulder, his hair tickled his neck.

“From an early age it was obvious I didn’t particularly enjoy staying in one place for long,” Castiel murmured, “I started small, joining my older brothers on diplomatic journeys, spice runs, but never alone.”

Dean hummed and leaned his head against the top of Castiel’s.

“After Michael ascended it was up to Balthazar and me to continue our family’s trade. We might be a kingdom, but our family—this entire city—was built up from a trading network. We’re simple merchants no matter how you slice it.”

“But you’re so much more than simple.”

“Why do you think so?”

“You’re… _incredible_ …” Dean blushed, shifting closer, “beautiful, powerful, everyone here loves you so much, and…s-so does Benny.”

“Benny doesn’t love me,” Castiel laughed, jouncing Dean’s head in the process, “sure we have sex, we’re fond of each other, but not all relationships are based on love.”

Dean nodded and bit his lip, gazing out the window. Breeze stirred the stray hanging tapestries and sheets around Castiel’s room, casting dancing shadows and colored light over their bare feet.

“I can tell he really likes you.”

“What?”

“Benny, he likes you.”

Dean drew up his shoulders and smiled.

“We kissed.”

“You did?” Castiel gasped in mirth, righting himself so quickly he almost hit Dean’s face.

“Just once,” Dean squeaked, well, once that counted, he had a vague, blurry memory from when he was drunk but he didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Well you’re just going to have to kiss him more!”

“It’s not as if I can just kiss him whenever I feel like it…”

“Sure you can,” Castiel purred, and he pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s lips, “just like that.”

“Hey, knock it off,” Dean spluttered and Castiel fell back onto the cushions behind them, cackling and wheezing for breath.

“In all seriousness, he really does care about you, I can see it in his face, and the way he totally pampered you this entire trip. That bathtub looked fit for a king.”

“You’re mocking me…”

“No, no, I’m serious. I don’t think he’s ever put that much effort into someone else’s comfort on his ship.”

“Not even you?”

“Are you kidding? Especially not me.”

 Dean smiled and stood when Castiel did, taking his offered arm for help.

“You want my advice?”

“Do I?” Dean joked. Castiel smirked and pushed him toward the door.

“I say do whatever comes naturally, trust me, Benny certainly won’t mind. Just take it easy on that arm.”

“Wh-what exactly do you think we’ll be doing?” Dean spluttered. Castiel kissed him again and pushed him out of the room with one final chuckle.

“Benny’s a big guy, you tell me.”

He shut the door in Dean’s face and he stood there, dumbstruck. He fingered his bandages and looked down, he saw Castiel had stuck a dark grey and gold embroidered wool robe in his sling and he smiled, he’d have to thank him later. He walked down the same hallway he saw Benny use earlier, following the corridor until he thought for sure he was lost for good.

“Looking for me?”

Dean jumped and Benny laughed behind him, placing a steadying hand on the small of his back.

“Castiel finished with you?”

“Uh, yeah actually, was just going to come find you for the night.”

“Hope he didn’t get to you too bad,” Benny said, steering Dean down the hall to his room.

“No he’s actually nice, like you said, he’s growing on me.”

“Good.”

They went into Benny’s room and Dean pulled the robe out from his sling, running his fingers over the material appreciatively. He glanced Benny’s way, he was too busy unpacking their things that were sent to the room earlier, and he slipped into the bathroom while he was distracted. He undressed as quickly as possible and stood naked in front of the mirror. He wasn’t as large as Benny, for sure, though not as slight as Castiel. He scratched the line of hair leading down to his groin and couldn’t decide whether to leave his boxers on beneath the robe or not. He let them slip to the floor and he shifted his weight, blushing furiously. He wasn’t particularly embarrassed about any aspect of his body, except maybe his bowed legs, he’d always been self-conscious about them, and he’d probably be as tall as his brother if his legs were straight, but no. He shook his head and pulled the robe on, careful of his arm, and wrapped it around his torso, tying it shut.

“Hey Dean have you seen my—”

Benny stepped into the bathroom and stopped short when he saw him.

“Uh, Benny, I…”

Benny was there, looming over him, large and warm and his lips were suddenly over his and Dean gasped, closing his eyes with a grateful sigh. He’d only just put it on but he wanted his robe off already, he wanted to feel Benny’s warm hands over his skin, wanted him to press bruises into his ribcage, he wanted to feel him for days. He moaned and pressed his body closer to Benny’s, always careful of his arm, and Benny wrapped him in his arms. They stumbled out of the bathroom, tripping over pillows and bags and clothes until they collapsed on the bed.

“Ow, ow, ow, wait,” Dean whimpered, rubbing his arm.

“Sorry, you alright?” Benny whispered in the space between their lips, lifting Dean until they were on their sides facing each other. He nodded and ran his good hand over Benny’s chest, stroking over his heart. Benny hummed and kissed him again, slowly, softly, rubbing his hip. Dean shuffled closer and pressed their groins together. He moaned softly when he felt Benny against him, large and hot, and he squirmed.

“You okay? I-is this okay?” Dean whimpered, breathing shallowly when Benny yanked the tie on his robe loose, baring him to the cool air. His nipples stiffened and Benny ducked down to kiss and suck each one.

“More than okay, you?”

“Y-yeah…” Dean said, arching his back with a happy sigh. They ended up not really doing much that night, Benny really only managed to get a hand on Dean’s cock after a few minutes of playing with his nipples and he was coming, almost too fast and sharp to be pleasurable, and he panted wetly against Benny’s neck, his hips twitching with each pump of Benny’s fist.

“Benny…” he cried, writhing when he wouldn’t stop touching him, and he clutched at his chest and arms, fumbling his hand past Benny’s boxers to palm his cock.

“S-so big,” he moaned, sucking a bruise into the larger man’s neck. Benny didn’t last long either, and after, when they held each other close and breathed each other’s air Dean couldn’t stop smiling and kissing Benny between panted breaths.

“Don’t ever let me go,” he murmured.

“Never, I’ve got you, cher.”

 

 “Your highness, there’s a message waiting for you in the study.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, putting his book down. He’d started studying, more in memory of Dean than his parents’ satisfaction. After Dean was killed he’d poured every ounce of energy he had into finding his brother’s killer, and the investigation had come to a head when Abaddon, a knight of the southern kingdom, outed her king as the perpetrator. Crowley, already an unscrupulous fellow, had fought the peace treaty with their kingdom every step of the way, the only thing that had saved it up until Dean’s death was the fact that no one king had absolute power.

Abaddon had thought his actions to be cowardly and not in the best interest of the kingdom, and she had, in her words, “put him down.” Sam clenched his jaw, remembering how happy he was to learn of the king’s death, but he’d wanted that pleasure for himself. Now he lived his days in a haze, constantly missing his brother, angered that he was taken away so suddenly and so cruelly, thinking about all the opportunities he missed to get closer to his brother, to know and love him like a proper brother should have. He entered his study and glanced around, spotting the blinking communicator on his desk. He pressed the play button on the touchpad and stepped around the desk to sit and wait.

“Hey Sammy.”

He jerked in surprise and scrambled for the communicator, tapping at the screen. It was from a blocked number, no name no face no nothing, but that had been Dean. He snarled, who dared to play such a cruel joke on him?!

“Before you do anything stupid, this isn’t a joke, it’s me, Dean. For reasons I can’t get into right now I can’t tell you where I am or who I’m with, just know that I’m alive and safe.”

“What the fuck, Dean,” Sam laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I’m sorry I waited so long to reach you, it took a while to get this number to work let alone connect to your communicator. Would’ve used mine but, you know, kinda exploded with the air ship,” Dean broke off and laughed and Sam rolled his eyes, just like his brother to joke about something like that, “but I just wanted to leave you with a message, so you’ll know I’m alive. Just, please, don’t try to look for me. Just know that I’m happy and safe and with someone I…someone I love very much.”

Sam smiled, hearing the pure adoration in his voice. He didn’t doubt Dean’s feelings.

“I heard they got the bastard who tried to kill me, good, now let that be the end of it. I hear you’re studying to get into university, that’s good, keep to your books, stay out of trouble and work hard. I love you, Sammy, I’ll see you again someday.”

“You son of a bitch,” Sam laughed thickly, not even trying to staunch his tears now. He’d do his best, no, better than that, he’d excel, he’d be the best student he could possibly be, just for Dean. He deleted the voice message—as much as he wanted to keep it, he’d respect his brother’s wishes for privacy—and dialed another connection.

“Hey Bobby, its Sam…can you keep a secret?”

 

“Did the message get through?”

Benny came up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around his waist. They were on the bridge, watching the moon rise bright and whole above the clouds. It’d been years, and now Dean knew his way through the ship backwards and forwards, could pilot it just as well, if not better than Benny, and his newfound cockiness and charm worked wonders on squeezing more tips out of customers than Benny had ever seen before.

“Yeah, we’ll have to thank Castiel for his help later.”

“Hmmm…I think I know the perfect way,” Benny murmured, kissing his neck and pressing his groin against Dean’s ass. Dean laughed and bared his throat, moaning softly in pleasure when Benny’s beard scraped against his skin, prickly against his own beginnings of a beard. His clean, soft hands had developed callouses, a few fingers had been awkwardly bent from bad breaks from various accidents around the ship, but he embraced each small imperfection on his body, because each one represented time he’d spent with Benny, and he wouldn’t give that up for the world.


End file.
